


Come Be Lonely With Me

by Kat_is_a_kit_kat



Category: Clone High
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Comfort/Angst, Friends to Lovers, JFK is Bisexual, Loneliness, M/M, Ponce is fucking dead, Van Gogh is Bisexual, idk what to tag lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:15:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27347248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_is_a_kit_kat/pseuds/Kat_is_a_kit_kat
Summary: 𝘚𝘰 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦.JFK refuses to leave his house after Ponce dies. From the little pieces of information Cleo manages to squeezes out of him, he states that he's never felt more alone. That nobody would ever understand his pain.Vincent, having known loneliness as an old friend, decides to see if he can help.Friendships blossom and feelings come undone.
Relationships: JFK & Ponce "Poncey" de León (Clone High), JFK/Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 63





	Come Be Lonely With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Yooooooooo 
> 
> So, as of writing this, this fic has not been outlined and I'm kinda just going with the flow, which, I feel, produces some of the best results!
> 
> JFK is referred to as JFK in this fic bc I'm quirky like that
> 
> Anyways! Enjoy!!

Vincent pauses for a moment, his hand raised just a few inches off of the door. _He really shouldn't be doing this_. He thinks. He didn't even know why he was doing this. 

It wasn't that he hated JFK. For all of JFK's faults, he had never wronged him. Never hurt him or made fun of him. Vincent thinks it's his aesthetic. His overly-macho personality. It turns him completely off. He's quiet, he enjoys being out of sight, being secluded. JFK was practically the polar opposite of all of that. _Well, he was._

JFK had started locking himself in his room a week after Ponce died. Nobody could get a hold of him. He declined all calls, all invitations to any social gatherings, and kept the curtains around his window shut. They all try to reach out and fail to varying extents. Abe is blocked by JFK's parents. So is Joan, but her message is at least delivered to JFK by his parents. Cleo was the only one who managed to get into his room.

She said it was a mess. Completely shrouded in darkness, with tissues lining the floor. By his bed was a fortress of empty tissue blocks. Cleo had decided to not mention the worrying stack of empty beer bottles that JFK had lazily shoved behind his door. 

JFK wouldn't even get out of bed to talk to her. He simply brought the covers over his head and told her that there was nothing she could do to help. _Nothing._

Maybe that was why Vincent thought it was a bad idea. _Cleopatra couldn't even help him, what on Earth made Vincent think he could?_

Cleo tries to pry something out of JFK the next day. She makes it into his room again. He seems slightly better, she says, at least he's sitting on the edge of his bed instead of being in it. He refuses to face her but is somewhat more sociable than last time. He dodges talking about Ponce, avoiding the topic like it's the plague. He brings up practically everything else, his voice has a slight tremble every time he suggests a new topic. It's only when Cleo agrees does he break slightly and tells her how he feels.

It's horrifying, he states, he's felt nothing like this. It felt like being watched while also being completely non-existent at the same time. He says that nobody will ever be able to understand him, that Ponce was the only person who completely understood him, and that not even Cleo could comprehend how painful these emotions were.

He kicks Cleo out and doesn't let her back in. She tries several times but is blocked at the front door by JFK's parents.

For all her faults, Cleo is a good friend. She doesn't blab JFK's state to the entire school. She only tells Abe. And Abe tells Joan. And Joan tells him. Information travels in a straight line. Vincent feels kind of bad for how he finds out. He feels as if JFK should've been the one to tell him how alone he felt. 

The way Joan describes JFK's feelings is eerily similar to how his loneliness feels. Maybe this was why he was here, hand poised and ready to knock on the front door to JFK's house. Ready to head up into the catastrophe that is JFK and tell him that he _understands_ what JFK is going through. That JFK isn't alone and will never be alone. Would it seem weird coming from him? They had never formally met. Vincent shrugged off his fears to the best of his ability and knocked twice on the door.

It took a moment before the door is replaced with Wally. He greets Vincent with a warm smile. "I'm assuming you're here to see JFK?"

Vincent nods in response, unsure of what to say.

Wally turns back and looks at the staircase behind him before stepping aside and motioning for Vincent to come in. 

"He's upstairs." Wally pats Vincent on the back before heading off to the living room. 

Vincent deliberately takes his time going up the stairs, counting the steps as he goes. He reaches the top with a total of 14 steps. He immediately wishes he didn't reach the top.

JFK's room isn't hard to spot. There's a hallway with three doors. Two are open, one is shut. If that wasn't enough of a dead giveaway, the one that is shut has sports banners littered all over it. 

Vincent prepares himself in front of JFK's door. He has no idea what to expect. Well, he has some notion. Everyone deals with loneliness in their own way, Vincent's was to darken his room and cry, JFK's was to socially deconstruct. _Yeah, he had no idea what to expect_.

He raises his fist like before, knocking twice and desperately awaiting an answer.

Vincent expected an answer similar to JFK yelling for him to come in, or JFK yelling for him to go away, or absolutely nothing at all. What Vincent didn't expect was JFK opening the door himself.

JFK looked _awful_. His eyes were sunken in and had dark bags underneath them. His hair was unstyled with a wild mess of brown curls sprawled all around his face. His shirt looked to be covered in snot stains. And he was still wearing Ponce's pants. 

His face brightens slightly upon seeing Vincent. His lips crack a small grin. "Oh, hey," He pauses for a moment, a confused look crossing his face. His smile fades. "Van Gogh? What are you doing here?"

Vincent feels nervousness begin to pool in his stomach. He frantically stumbles over what to say. "Hi, JFK. I wanted to see how you were doing." 

JFK crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. "Did Cleo send ya?"

"What? No!" Vincent wildly shakes his head. "I heard about what you were going through and I wanted to," Vincent pauses for a moment, wringing his hands. He sighs, deciding to be completely honest. "I wanted to tell you that I know what you're going through. That you're not alone."

JFK's face is unreadable. His lips are pressed into a fine line and his eyebrows are furrowed. After a moment of just _looking_ at Vincent, he shrugs, and motions for him to come in. 

"Don't forget to shut the door behind ya."

JFK's room is dark. He's surprised JFK can even make his way back to his bed without tripping over the stacks of tissue boxes. Vincent stumbles over a few, nearly tripping and falling straight into JFK's bed. He manages to regain his composure before anything can occur. JFK lies down on his back, clamping his hands together, staring straight up at the ceiling. Vincent stands there for a moment before sitting himself on the edge of his bed.

"It's weird, ya know?" JFK starts. Vincent peers at him. "He was there my entire life and now he's just...gone. Oh, God." And then JFK starts sobbing. Hard, uncontrollable sobs. His hands fly up to his face in a desperate attempt to dry his tears.

Vincent doesn't know what to do. He was still processing the fact that he had even managed to get inside of JFK's house, much less help him with a mental breakdown. Vincent's foot kicks against a box of tissues. He hastily picks it up and pulls a tissue out, handing it to JFK, who snatches it without hesitation.

JFK sobs for a really long time. It's a heartbreaking noise. He stutters out small chunks of how much he just wants Ponce back. How it should've been him who was killed instead of Ponce. How _desperately_ he wanted to see Ponce one last time, _just one last hug_ from Ponce, that was all he wanted. Vincent doesn't even know what to say.

"W-what really gets to me," JFK outstretches his hand for another tissue. Vincent wordlessly hands it to him. "Is that he was trying to tell me something before he died," JFK uses the tissue to blow his nose before tossing it onto the floor. "And I brushed him off." JFK explodes into tears again. He doesn't even try to choke out words like before. He merely pulls his legs to his chest and sobs into them.

It takes several minutes before the sobbing even begins to subside. When the sobbing finally does subside fully, with JFK wiping the last tear from his eye, he shoots up, looking Vincent directly in the eye. His facial expression morphs between anger and anxiety as he frantically shakes his head. He sighs, covering his face with his hand and pointing at the door.

"Get out."

Vincent freezes. "Why?"

"Because I said to. Get out!"

Was this what Cleo experienced? JFK barely opening up about his emotions before getting swiftly kicked out? Vincent wanted to leave. He wanted to respect JFK's privacy and boundaries, but something told him that he was JFK's last chance. Nobody else had even gotten in. Anybody who had gotten kicked out and wasn't allowed to re-enter. Vincent didn't want to leave JFK's room and go to school the next day hearing how JFK had done something to harm himself _knowing_ he could've prevented it.

Vincent nods before standing up and making his way to the door. Just before he opens it, he turns to face JFK. JFK is perched on the edge of his bed, staring miserably at the floor. "You don't have to feel scared, you know?"

JFK doesn't even bother to respond.

"It's okay to show emotions. Ponce would've wanted you to open up to other people." JFK's head perks up a little upon hearing Ponce's name. "You could use a friend, and if you need one, I'm here." JFK doesn't show any visible response to Vincent's statement, although, if he squinted hard enough, he could see JFK nodding at what he said. He took this as his cue to leave and did so.

He heads down the stairs at an even slower pace than before, wondering if he had done more harm than good. He waves a silent goodbye to JFK's parents, unsure if they even notice him leaving.

It's a somber walk home and an even more somber evening spent in his room. Vincent decides to paint to take his mind off the subject, but his thoughts keep drifting back to how helpless JFK was. All his paintings turn out dark and dreary, exactly the _opposite_ of what he wishes to be thinking about. He decides to ditch painting for the moment and open his phone, hoping that mindless distractions will absolve him from the intrusive thought that he had just fucked everything up.

He opens his phone to a text from an unknown number. He taps on it, not sure of who it is.

_Hey, it's JFK. Thanks for stopping by and talking to me. You're a good friend._

Vincent takes a minute to breathe before shooting back a reply.

_No problem. I hope you get to feeling better. See you tomorrow?_

It takes a couple of minutes before Vincent's phone pings with a response.

_Sure._

**Author's Note:**

> See you soon!


End file.
